The Scorpion's Bite
by ArashiKishu1
Summary: A mystery lies within the country of Dollet, and two unlikely individuals must uncover the truth. Seifer/Quistis.
1. Goodbye

A/N: I offer you my newest fic! I'm not quite sure how far this'll go; I suppose it depends on feedback and me not getting writer's block. Not much happens in this chapter, mostly just background information you should be aware of. There's a lot I don't like/am bothered by about this chapter, but there's also a lot I do like. So, hopefully it'll all balance out. Please read, and I really do appreciate reviews :D

Disclaimer: Squaresoft owns all of the characters except the ones I make up. 

_The Scorpion's Bite_

by ArashiKishu

The Headmaster of Balamb Garden was settled in his armchair, carved from the finest cedar and covered in the most elegant, sleek-looking leather. Positioned in front of him was an enormous desk, which was always rather disorganized. Maps and diagrams, as well as countless SeeD files were sprawled across the length of the table. Books and portfolios were stacked high in an untidy manner, not to mention several pens and pencils - some that had even been out of ink or broken for a long period of time - obscured by the many crumpled pieces of paper that were most likely rough drafts to government-related business.

The man hardly noticed the mess, though, for he was too deep in thought over the letter in his hands, the letter than he had already read over ten times. His eyes loomed over the piece of parchment once again; the delicate lines and curves of the ink read out:

_Headmaster-_

_It is with my deepest apologies that I must resign from this Garden. For the past several years of my life I have had the great honor of serving this elite academy of fine instructors and students. SeeD has been my life, my triumph, something that I can be proud of forever and always._

_Unfortunately, I feel that it is time for me to relinquish my title as SeeD. This is in no way the fault of Garden; I just feel that personally, I need to move on in life. I intend to keep in contact with Garden often._

_I will miss everyone greatly. I thank Hyne that I have had the wonderful opportunity to be a SeeD, and I will never forget my experience._

_Sincerely,_

_Quistis Trepe_

Sighing, Cid placed the letter back on the desk and took a long sip of lukewarm coffee, the words in the letter still encircling in his mind. _Deepest apologies...great honor...my triumph...move on...never forget..._

He had just lost one of his best SeeD. And in a way, he had also just lost a daughter.

Old memories surfaced, of little children running wildly through the tall grass surrounding a quaint little home, wearing cute dresses and overalls Matron had sewn herself. 

They were all so innocent back then. Every little thing made them smile, laugh and giggle. He chuckled to himself. They really were beautiful children, even if they weren't his own.

Absently thumbing the edge of the letter, Cid wondered whether Quistis had been entirely truthful when saying it wasn't Garden's fault. He was well aware of the fact that the school had a way of secluding people from the rest of the world. Quistis had made SeeD earlier than any other child, forced to act as an adult sooner than she should of had to.

She was unlike the others in so many ways. 

"Dear," a beautiful, dark-haired woman wearing the most charming smile interrupted his thoughts. "Have a cup of hot tea, will you? That coffee looks cold." She walked over to him and placed a small, floral designed teacup in front of him. The fragrant scent of chamomile was too wonderful. Taking a small sip, he began to speak.

"Where do you think she will go?" he inquired.

His wife seemed to consider this for a few moments before giving Cid a warm, comforting smile. "You know Quisty, she can take care of herself."

"I know...but I worry, that's all," he sighed.

"Me too...but I have a feeling that whatever Quistis decides to do, she'll be all right."

. . .

An angry blonde-haired woman paced back and forth in her hotel room, occasionally muttering a few indistinct words aloud, waving her hands around wildly, as if she was speaking to some invisible person.

'Great move, Quis. Now your jobless and alone.'

Technically though, Quistis had enough money from SeeD that would last a _very _long time. She of coarse knew that. But what was she supposed to do, sit around all day and watch the air go by?

Her letter of resignation from SeeD was rather hasty. She really hadn't planned it out like most other things she did, she only knew that she had to get away. It wasn't anything personal against Garden, really, it was her own fault. 

There were only so many times one could wake up every morning just to greet the cheerful faces of those who had someone. Someone or something special. It wasn't that Quistis was jealous; she just felt...out of place. 

Quistis had _had_ something special, but that was taken away from her. 

At Garden, Quistis had always had a reputation of being untouchable, too prim and proper for her own good. People conversed with her often, but they never really bothered to get to know her. She supposed no one had ever gotten to know the real Quistis Trepe.

But who was the real Quistis Trepe, anyway?

That was the real problem. She didn't know who she was. And that was why she had left.

Pausing to gaze out the open window in her room, she noticed the beautiful cerulean sky that was covered in a thick blanket of stars, which were dulled in appearance due to the bright streetlights below. The crepuscular night was completely mesmerizing. 

Near the hotel, she noted a little tavern, which was just suave enough in image to be laudable. 

Chewing on her bottom lip, a habit she possessed since her childhood, Quistis grabbed her coat and purse, and walked out the door, closing it behind her. 

'Maybe the _real_ Quistis Trepe likes alcohol,' she mused thoughtfully.

. . . 

'This stuff tastes like crap,' she thought vapidly, as she tried to hide her disgust. 

She'd been sitting in a cozy little booth enjoying the sereneness of the place. Actually, it was quite a nice little pub, unlike the other ones she had been in while on a mission. Those had been loud and rowdy, with deafening music and foolish men. However, this tavern had a very skilled pianist, who sat perched on a small bench, fingers moving gracefully across the keys, the pleasant sound flowing throughout the small room.

In fact, Quistis was so entranced that she failed to notice the man that was now sitting across from her in the booth.

"Quistis Trepe, I presume."

Her head jerked up while a small gasp of air left her throat.  

The man in front of her was roughly in his thirties. He wore a short, black leather coat and dark jeans that complemented his ebony-hued hair, which was spiked and had a few flecks of gray in it. 

Before she could open her mouth to speak, he began, "Victor Hayes." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, folded piece of paper and handed it to her. 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No, but I know you. I've done some research, and I'd like to offer you a job. It's entirely optional of coarse, however, if you're interested, go to the address on that piece of paper tomorrow at 1800 hours."

Still very confused, Quistis looked down and began to unfold the sheet of paper. There was, indeed, an address written down. Slowly bringing her head up, she asked, "what exact kind of work-" but the rest of her words died on her lips as she realized that the man in the leather coat was no longer there. 

_To Be Continued…_

Seifer wasn't in this chapter, but he will most likely be in the next, if there is, in fact, a next. Eh, I hope some of you are happy with this chapter! Oh and…the title _does_ have meaning, just not right now. Thanks!

- ArashiKishu


	2. Shadows of Nothing

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I was stuck in Virginia for a few days with over a foot of snow. But thanks to reading manga and sitting in the hotel lobby for 2 hours, I was able to come up with the 'mystery' for this story, which will be introduced next chapter. 

Disclaimer: Credit goes to Squaresoft, and the title of this chapter comes from one of my most favorite songs, 'Wind' by Akeboshi. The song fits Seifer really well, in my opinion. 

The Scorpion's Bite

Chapter Two: Shadows of Nothing

By ArashiKishu

There were citizens in Dollet who would wake up early every morning just to see the sunrise, for even though it is a simple thing, it was also a beautiful one.

This morning's aurora was no different; the morning light glimmered across the gentle waves, creating a lovely mirage of color and movement. The sky above was a fusion of different shades of pink and lilac.

Near the horizon, the rays of the sun glistened upon the archaically designed streets and architecture of Dollet. Most of the houses were over two stories high, and therefore, on some streets, there were bridges connecting them on opposite sides. 

The large fountain in the center of town suddenly came to life, crystalline water spraying upwards and foaming at the bottom.

Out in the distance, resting on the mountaintop, stood tall the Communication Tower, while on the other side of Dollet, near the rocky, coastal cliffs, was the royal residence of the Dollet Dukedom Parliament. Though it wasn't of immense size, its edificial design made is particularly striking compared to the rest of the country. 

Among the many shops, pubs, and vehicle rentals that Dollet had to offer was the Dollet Inn, which was several stories high and had a small restaurant attached to the bottom floor.

Inside one of the rooms that overlooked the town, Quistis Trepe hazily opened her eyes. She hadn't needed an alarm clock in years; SeeD had trained her to wake up at the same time every morning, 6 AM. Though, some days she would wake up earlier to avoid the frantic rush of students and teachers. In that extra time, she would usually walk around Garden or train outside. It gave her time to think, clear her mind before facing the rest of the world. And perhaps it was sort of a special hobby to her, seeing as the only person who did this was she.

After sitting up, a moment or two was needed before Quistis realized where she was. It had been like this for the past few days; she would wake up, only to discover that the ever so familiar atmosphere her dorm room at Garden possessed was no longer present. 

But soon enough, the confusion would leave and reality would come flowing back.

Adjustment takes time, she would tell herself. Though Quistis didn't particularly favor change, she could always adapt to whatever situation thrown her way.

Only her recent predicament was one she could not shake, try as she might. Every day, the air at Garden would become thicker, until it was so thick that it became impossible to breathe. And so she would try to run outside, for air, but the hallways, they had suddenly become longer, and her feet heavier. And the persistent ringing, brought on by silence, was no longer something she could bear to hear. 

The constant feeling of being trapped had made her somewhat uncaring, contrary to her normally attentive disposition.

And so it had become obvious to her, that Garden was slowly, but surely, pushing her away. Or perhaps it had been the other way around; maybe she was the one doing the pushing. 

She supposed it didn't really matter now; living in the past was a foolish and wasteful way to exist. 

Quistis stood and made her way into the little kitchen, where among a few magazines and newspapers, as well as a coffee machine, was the folded piece of paper the gentleman had given her the night before. Silently, she cursed. She had hoped that by some chance, it might have been a dream. 

But it was still there, and she reckoned that if the little thing had eyes, they would be staring right back at her, expectantly.

Walking over to the counter, she timidly picked up the folded paper. Her fingers clasped around it, and she was only somewhat surprised to see that it didn't disappear before her very eyes, just like that man had.

She supposed there would be no harm, really. He had said that the job was entirely optional; she only wished that he would've stayed long enough to tell her what it was. 

The man-Victor-had looked mysterious, yes, but sleazy? No..And he certainly wasn't raunchy. He looked rather well kept, actually. So Quistis doubted he ran some sort of prostitution ring; but what did he want her for, then?

If he had checked up on her files, then that probably entailed that he knew she was a trained mercenary. He must've wanted her for some type of commission work... The idea seemed most plausible, anyway.

Even so, Quistis couldn't deny the fact that whatever it was, she wanted to know. There was a feeling inside her, one that felt a little like insecurity, and a little like curiosity and excitement.

So why not? If she were to be wrong, she would leave.

Quistis was sure that it might not be as simple as that, but no matter, she would come prepared.

...

The cafe window offered a wonderful view of the town; outside, the ocean waves splashed against the jagged rocks surrounding the edge of the water, and off in the distance, there were a few ships traversing the ocean. Since the country had one of the largest ports, boats continuously traveled in and out of Dollet, exporting and importing various goods. This was a very convenient thing because it allowed materials to be transported to several other parts of the world. 

Dollet was a very prosperous country in terms of commerce. The country had become considerably stronger after the Sorceress' War, where it had dealt with the iron-fisted dictatorship of Vinzer Deling. Even after a little over a year, not many wished to talk about the War. It wasn't a subject one would normally bring to attention in pleasant conversation, mainly because it brought up too many memories and far too much unwanted discourse.

Quistis was sitting at a small table, enjoying her breakfast and feeling oddly relaxed. There was still the note with the address...but that was only a small burden compared to everything else she had ever dealt with. She felt relaxed because, really, Dollet was quite a nice place, and she couldn't help but feel a little calm. She decided that, strange as it sounded to her, it would probably become her permanent home. A new home for a new beginning, she supposed.

She slowly took a sip of her coffee, unknowledgeable of the man that occupied the apartment right across town.

...

A twenty-year-old Seifer Almasy issued from the washroom in his flat, clad in a pair of dark-coloured jeans and holding a damp towel in his hand. He had used it to dry his hair, which now looked as if it had recently grappled with a windstorm.

He had rented the apartment a few months before, and with his current occupation, affording it was no trouble at all. The building was nothing special; it wasn't large, nor was it small. Seifer didn't spend much time in the place, anyway.

Turning around, his back now faced the mirror. One would probably say that the reflection shown was quite disturbing. A large amount of his back was covered in scars; dark pink discolorations that had obviously once been deep, sickening gashes. 

The physical pain was long gone, but he knew of their presence, constant reminders of his muddled past. And though Seifer was sure he was only imagining it, sometimes in the middle of the night, he would awake to feel a burning sensation where he had been unmercifully struck by a profusion of weaponry. The feeling was comparable to that of having salt poured into an open wound---or several open wounds for that matter. 

He never welcomed the pain, or the memories, but there they were, indistinct flashes that would probably never go away. The memories did not oppress him, though...really they were just bothersome and more than slightly disconcerting. Seifer did not pity himself, and he never would. As it had been said, the past shapes the future; and while Seifer wouldn't go as far as to say that he was a better man, he could say that he was a learned man. 

His eyes searched the confines of his room for the shirt he had thrown somewhere. Seifer's place was as tidy as any man's would be. In other words, objects were _tastefully_ scattered on the floor, save for Hyperion, which was stationed against the closet door. 

The gunblade was akin to a dutiful comrade---a friend throughout all hardships, thick and thin; always there, at his side, ready for combat. But even the best of friends can resent one another, and Seifer did, in many ways, resent his trusty weapon. He resented the familiar feel of the handle, firm in his grasp, and he hated the scratches and rough spots visible on the effulgent blade. Those blemishes, they were symbols of immorality, sin...and triumph. And most of all, Seifer despised the comforting feel of excitement---the rush of adrenaline as the gunblade swung, in a full range of motion, slicing the air, invisible sparks of heat and electricity coursing through the night..Coursing through his body. How it made him feel so powerful and full of life! ...And how it brought him his inevitable downfall...

Seifer discovered his shirt lying near the bed, and rolled his eyes in annoyance. His tendency to lose things was beginning to piss him off. Grabbing the shirt, he pulled it on.

The sun glinted through the window, causing the whole room to glow and Seifer to feel faint warmth upon his now fully clothed body. Bothered by this, he threw on his trench coat and a pair of black sunglasses. Shortly afterwards, he left his apartment, but not without obtaining Hyperion first.

...

The day had gone by, and according to the clock tower, it was nearing 6 PM. The sky was darker and the streetlights had turned on just recently. Several people were strolling through the town, conversing animatedly with friends and giggling lightly, shopping bags in hand.

There was a light, summer breeze present in the air, which caused Seifer's coat to whisk slightly behind him as he stood at the corner of the street, waiting for the last few automobiles to pass. Hyperion was securely hooked to his belt, and was not visible from under his long coat. Across from him were a few shops directly next to each other; one in particular, was an antique bookstore. This happened to be his destination.

Crossing the street, he entered the little building.

"Mr. Almasy, sir," the shopkeeper acknowledged Seifer from behind the counter.

Seifer nodded his regards, and continued down the steps located at the back of the room, behind a tall bookshelf. 

As Seifer reached the bottom, a man leaning against a table greeted him. 

"Ah, Seifer, you're here."

The room had formerly been a bar, with its hardwood floor, high tables and stools, and a minibar, which still had dusty bottles of liquor behind it. 

"Victor," Seifer returned, as he walked behind the counter and poured himself a glass of rum. After taking a swig, he set the glass down and continued. "I received some interesting information from a few civilians today. I think we should check it out."

"Of coarse, but before you go on---I'm expecting someone in a few minutes. A new agent. We can continue once they arrive."

"You hired someone?" Seifer asked, coming to stand near the older man.

"Yes, a woman actually," Victor replied, checking his watch. He looked back at Seifer, who seemed thoroughly interested. "Though, I'm not one hundred percent she'll show, but I think she will. I believe you'll know who she is, too."

"Oh?" he queried, eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

"Yes, Quistis Trepe."

At that moment, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, and both Seifer and Victor turned their heads in the direction of the noise. When the individual became apparent, it was none other than Quistis.

His eyes locked with his former acquaintance, and the room became dead silent. 


	3. Momentum

A/N: *sweat drop* Ahhh I'm so sorry for the delay. Major apologies. I must thank everyone for the reviews, though, you guys are absolutely wonderful. 

Disclaimer: Gotta love Squaresoft. And you didn't hear it from me, but this fic is sort of based off of a novel, which is _somewhat _exaggerated. But you didn't hear it from me. *disappears*

_The Scorpion's Bite_

Chapter Three: _Momentum_

By ArashiKishu

_"I now know the depths I reach are limitless" (Reptile, Nine Inch Nails)_

_He was seventeen then. Young, vivacious, and highly indifferent to anyone who dared to challenge him._

_Like his father, he supposed, but he hated his father and perhaps for that very same reason._

_His father, well respected among his colleagues, had been graced with a certain poised mind-set that had succeeded in raising him to the top of social designation. Well-spoken and extremely persuasive, he was an asset to the world of business._

_In spite of his devotion to the corporations, he was never meant to be a family man. As a father, he fed his son with grating amounts of political and social convictions, conditioning him to think little of those who were inferior and envy those more educated than him._

_Other than that, the boy had received nothing from his father save for material possessions, and he had come to wonder whether that was a sign of affection or merely just a means to ensure the rapid growth of commercial enterprise._

_His mother, frustrated by the man's obvious lack of compassion, had left a few years before without so much as a note. But his father hadn't cared, and neither had he._

_A broken family, it seemed, was less proficient than one that had never even existed. _

But none of that mattered anymore, for the boy had become a man and his father was dead. He had died a year ago, killed by those very same convictions.

…Foolish was son for even allowing himself to remember.__

"Sir," a voice came from the doorway of his office. He jerked his head to the side, and the woman before him tilted her head slightly. 

"I'm sorry,' she began, fiddling with the ends of her white, knee length coat. "Perhaps I should have-"

Grunting with frustration, he cut her off. "What is it?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"Results, sir." She dared to walk into the room, before continuing. "Things seem to be moving along quite well." The woman nervously handed him the clipboard, and he all but grabbed the thing. As he flipped through the pages, jaw set in obvious concentration, the girl stood back, flustered. 

Seldom was a girl this pretty, with soft, wavy curls that rested at her shoulders, silvery emerald eyes, and velvety light skin. Beauty that did not go all together unnoticed by the person sitting before her. 

Fear was the word to describe her intellection of the man, but also admiration. He was dangerous in the way he spoke, and dangerous in the way he carried himself. It was as if he existed in a whole other world, completely unphased by those living in the current. 

Apparently satisfied, he set the board on the desk and drummed his fingers over the stack of papers fastened by the metal clamp. When he looked back at the woman, she seemed to be waiting for a reply. "Well, go on then," he belittled her.

Only slightly disappointed, she turned around and left his office, closing the door behind her, but not before muttering a quick, yet still polite, "yes, sir."

He glanced at the data again. _Words on paper, he admonished, preferring to see it for himself. Rising from the chair, he opened the door to meet the familiar and refreshing sounds of progress, reverberating against the high walls._

He allowed a hint of a smile to grace his features, an eerie curve at the corner of the lips that others found by far disturbing. The possibilities were endless, and he would be the bringer of them all.

Yes, things did seem to be going well.

………

Quistis had rented a compact automobile from a local _Rent-A-Drive near the hotel; those things were literally all over the place in Dollet. The cars were in much better condition than the ones used for missions at Balamb, she noted, and with only a small amount of difficulty, she had managed to find her way to the appropriate address, and was completely taken aback. It was-_

"An antique bookstore," she deadpanned. _You have got to be kidding me..._

Quistis checked the address again, before glancing back at building with a doubtful glare. Granted, she had seen stranger things before..but a bookstore?

In all honesty though, she didn't really have a clue of what to expect, so with that in mind, she entered the shop, hearing the familiar jingling of bells as the door closed behind her. 

Quistis was immediately greeted with the strong yet relatively pleasant smell of old books. 

Admittedly, she had spent a lot of time in the library at Garden. While other cadets had found the place quite useful for less..innocent matters, Quistis had discovered somewhere peaceful, and for the most part (her admirers seemed to have took great interest in hiding around the corners of bookshelves), devoid of the people she knew. 

The bookstore was completely old-fashioned, which seemed to correlate with the appearance of the rest of the city. Quistis had only been in the country for a few days, and already she was noticing the distinct, yet welcoming organization of Dollet. 

"Good evening!" a voice called from behind the bookshelves.

Unsure of herself, "Uh, good evening..." she replied, lowering her head to scan the rows of books for the owner of the voice. 

When she found him, he was busily dusting off the shelves with an old dishtowel. Looking up from his task, he wiped his forehead with the cloth and repositioned his glasses. He was obviously the keeper of the store, given his dedication to keeping the place tidy. 

"Hello, ma'am. What can I do for you?" He was stout, in the charming sort of way, which sort of reminded her of Cid.

"I'm not sure exactly... I think I'm looking for someone." 

She let her eyes wander around the little shop, novels catching her glance every so often, their titles not really registering.

"Oh?" The shopkeeper peered at the woman, brows creased in thought. Out of the corner of his eye, something shiny and metal caught his attention, Save-the-Queen, securely fastened around her waist. "Oh!" he exclaimed, causing Quistis to take a step back. "You must be looking for Mr. Hayes!"

Somewhat relieved, "Yes, could you tell me where to find him?"

………

Seeing Seifer was apparently the last thing she had expected, and rightfully so. 

"Surprise, surprise..." he grinned, leaning forward in order to stand up. "Well this certainly is a _very small world..." he commented, with his singularly sneering sardonicism. _

Stepping around Quistis in a circle, he surveyed his erstwhile instructor, who seemed a little bothered by Seifer's physical proximity. Stopping, he shot a fairly accusing glance towards the third subject present in the room. "Care to explain what the hell she's doing here?"

"Why don't we all have a seat..." Victor began, gesturing towards the chairs positioned around the bar table. He took a seat himself, and Quistis sighed, pushing around Seifer to do the same.

Seifer, of coarse, wasn't one to follow the crowd, so instead he leaned his back against the wall and crossed him arms. "Seriously, what _is _she doing here?" he repeated, eyes intent on Quistis. 

"_She _has a name, you know," Quistis replied restively, tilting her head towards Seifer, but not quite looking at him. "Or have you forgotten?" 

"Tried to," he shrugged. It was true. Maybe not her in particular, but Seifer didn't really care to remember anyone or anything from that part of his life. As far as he was concerned, the past could go to hell.

Quistis pressed her lips together. She didn't have a response to that, nor could she think of one. It wasn't as if she had given Seifer a lot of consideration over the past year, either. Back at Garden, they certainly weren't what one would call friends; they merely associated on a teacher - student level. 

Granted, directly after the war, she had presumed that Seifer would undoubtedly return to Garden, and once again attempt a shot at passing the exam. However, that idea had clearly never happened, and as a result, Balamb Garden had been swept with rumors regarding the infamous rebel. And though the rumors didn't always appertain to the realm of fatality, more than a few Garden cadets had wild imaginations.

Quistis had chosen to ignore the rumors; she wasn't one for gossip, anyway. Seifer was capable of taking care of himself. She knew that.

"Anyhow_…_" Victor interjected, desisting their little…reverie, if one could call it that. "Look, I realize you two probably have a lot to…catch up on..? But first, I'd like to explain to you, Quistis, why exactly you're here." 

Seifer shifted his weight, annoyed. Her presence was bothersome, to say the least. She still wore that damned clip in her hair, he noticed, the same clip that he had, too many a time, actually considered destroying. 

"Alright…" she said slowly, willing him to continue, though her thoughts seemed more focused on Seifer. Why, of all places, did he have to be here?

"Well, this is sort of a meeting place, a headquarters, if you will." Gesturing around him, he went on, "Of coarse, we're not very official, as you can probably tell." 

_No arguing there_, Quistis thought. 

"But, since the club had been out of business for years, the place is pretty much under wraps," the man explained.

"And why would you need to keep it a secret?" she raised an eyebrow, skeptical of the whole situation. 

"You've heard of the Forest Owls, correct?" Victor asked. 

"Of coarse," Quistis replied, not sure of what exactly that had to do with anything.

"Well, groups such as that are created for the safety of the citizens. Similar to the Forest Owls, we employ members who will actively search for any discrepancies within the system."

"But..." Quistis shook her head, confused. If he was referring to the previous circumstances…

The entire Gabaldian government had been overwhelmingly corrupt; that was why Rinoa had helped to form the rebellion against his command. Deling was wreaking havoc in his very own country; threatening those who refused to follow and sending them to a prison that he himself ordered to be created.

Did that mean Dollet was corrupt, as well? 

"Don't worry, nothing is wrong with the Dollet government---at least not yet, anyway," he corrected. "That's what we're trying to prevent from happening, a situation where the country is in trouble. Because if it happened once," Victor shrugged, "it could easily happen again."

Leaning forward, Quistis gently rested her chin in her clasped hands. "Exactly how do you prevent it, then?"

"Well, there's no failsafe method," he reasoned. "But," the older man continued, "if you strengthen the country as a whole..it lessens the likelihood of something happening. Do you see what I'm saying?" 

Quistis indicated her understanding with a slight inclination of the head. "So I take it the organization's not affiliated with the Dollet government?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, but we do receive various Intel from any of the three Gardens, as well as small organizations. We work together, you could say, correlating and investigating any information we see as a possible threat to not just Dollet, but all of the regions." 

Quistis seemed to chew over this for a moment before responding. "So…I'd be working with Seifer, then?"

"What, don't think you can handle it, Trepe?" Though, Seifer wasn't exactly looking forward to associating with Quistis, either. The comment was obviously meant to unnerve her, something he specialized in when it came to Quistis Trepe.

"Don't be ridiculous," she drawled, before returning her attention to the only other man present in the room. 

Victor positioned himself upright and once again advanced behind the counter located near the back of the tavern. Quistis' eyes followed his motion as he searched for a suitable taste, and pulled out a bottle of copper colored fluid from one of the shelves. Absently, he shook the container to get rid of the sediment at the bottom. Grabbing a glass from the side, he twisted off the cap and filled the glass a little.

"One question," she paused before continuing, "Why did you contact me?"

Victor smiled, releasing a small chuckle over the rim of his glass. "Would you believe me if I said that Cid and I are old friends?"


	4. Needle and Thread

A/N: Technically this chapter could have been out a week ago. But my hard drive crashed, which led to other things. Word of advice: Never buy a computer just because you think the cow-spotted box is _adorable._

Disclaimer: I don't own Squaresoft, and I'm pretty sure I never will ;)

The Scorpion's Bite

Chapter IV: Needle and Thread

By ArashiKishu

The night had grown slightly colder, a milky white sheen enveloping the dark canopy above, a faint glow radiating off of the aged structures of Dollet. The sea was quiet, untouched; the only signs of disturbance were the occasional flutters of wind breathing across the wide expanse of ocean, barely touching but just enough to create a gentle, light rise and fall upon the steady flow of water. 

Quistis emerged from the building, Seifer coming just shortly after her. 

She wrapped the feather-light jacket tighter around her body upon feeling a slight shudder of wind. Her attire, she realized, was much more…_different _now that she wasn't a SeeD anymore. The outfit she wore no longer included a little red tie that would take minutes to adjust in order to achieve the perfect straightness..no longer meant wearing a skirt that offered a little more than a decent view for the curious eyes of the Trepies, but rather a navy blue blouse and a comfortable pair of black dress pants. It was a change, one that was not all-together bad…just…different. Really, Quistis could think of no better term to describe not just her wardrobe, but also everything else that was going on, as well. 

_Different_ wasn't a word the woman was quite accustomed to in her not-so-spontaneous way of living.

Turning to regard Seifer, she pursed her lips together, attempting to find the right words to say. One had to be careful when speaking to Seifer Almasy, for obvious reasons of which she knew all to well. Quistis didn't see any real reason to be impolite with him, anyway. At least not yet. Part of her, the part that had always tried to discover even the smallest shred of hope in the most difficult of circumstances, wanted to believe that perhaps Almasy had changed, even if the change were to be so small that it wouldn't really have much of a difference. Anything. Anything at all that might distinguish the man standing before her from the boy she had known a year ago.

Because if Quistis was going to _work _with Seifer Almasy, she would most likely have to rely on that little shred of hope just to refrain from strangling him.

The organization, she noted, appeared to operate along the same lines at Garden, but at a considerably smaller scale. Which, in her opinion, was a lot more sensible, seeing as it had the power to work in a more free and discrete manner.

Something that had always bothered Quistis about SeeD was the fact that it functioned by such commercial means. Everything seemed to be about making money and assisting only those individuals and groups with the more generous flow of revenue. Not to mention the strong amounts of political involvement; Garden's size was often a setback rather than a blessing. Since the institution was so large, it was of coarse quite susceptible to the often-overwhelming interests of various leaders and office-holders.

Quistis was forced to wonder how a kind-hearted man like Cid had become so engaged in such a demanding business, anyway. The real principles, or rather, intentions of Garden seemed almost obscure at times. Still, Quistis had loved her profession, and had adored Cid far too much to dissent the ethical faults of the school.

Victor obviously shared a similar perspective, and as far as Quistis could tell, that had been the reason for establishing the organization. He certainly had a lot of connections, Cid evidently being one of them.

Clearing her throat, "I'm…glad you're doing well," was all she could finally muster. 

_Glad you're doing well?_ The statement unbelievingly echoed throughout her mind.

Raising an eyebrow, Seifer folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you tell to all of your students who misbehaved during class?" he quipped.

Quistis inwardly grimaced. Definitely not the right thing to say.

A pause. There were groups of people up ahead, laughing, and probably enjoying themselves at a local pub or café. Neither of the two individuals noticed, however.

"What are doing in Dollet, Quistis?" he continued, with a certain tinge of roughness to his voice. No, he didn't want her there, and knowing Seifer, he was determined to make that fact clear, whether she knew it or not.  

"I could ask you the same question," came her reply.

Seifer laughed. "What? Did you really think I would come back to Garden?" Shaking his head, "I'm not like you, Trepe."

"What are trying to imply?" she countered.

Already the woman was becoming uneasy. His words seemed to suggest that Quistis didn't have any legitimate right being in Dollet, let alone in the same one-mile radius. Surely if she would have had any idea that Seifer Almasy, of all people, was going to be there, she would have most likely steered clear.

Seifer tilted his head back in slight amusement. Rolling his eyes, "Well, you're awfully far away from Balamb, Quistis, and I've never figured you to be the type of person who _vacationed_." He shook his head "No, I'm guessing you ran away from your precious little Garden," he stated, as if any other reason would be blatantly implausible. 

Her jaw tightened just a little. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Is that so?" Seifer asked slowly, yet in such a way that it was obvious he was mocking her.  _I know you better than you think. _"Tell me, what happened? Lose you job or some-"

"You don't know _anything _about me!" Anger was getting the better of Quistis; her stance had become quite rigid, and a distinct feeling of frustration was itching its way through her veins. It was the same feeling she seemed to receive whenever Seifer was around. 

Nothing had changed. 

Part of her anger seemed to surround the fact that Seifer was more or less correct in his judgment of the woman. Quistis had, although not quite so literally, run away from the complications in her life. Perhaps confronting them head on would have been a better solution, but it wasn't the one she had chosen. Instead she had decided to resign from SeeD and essentially move on, in hopes that her problems would somehow burry themselves in the past. And she hated that Seifer was just accusing her without even knowing any of the details of what she felt…of what she went through _every_ day…

But whether Quistis liked it or not, she was an easy target to his trivial banter.

In a desperate attempt to not only avoid making a scene, but also to mitigate some of her infuriation, Quistis lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "And who are you to bring up running away from Garden," she hissed loud enough for him to hear. "If I recall correctly, you left in one hell of a rush."

"See that's the difference between us, though. I never needed that _place_. But you, on the other hand, _did_." Pausing for a brief moment, he purposefully allowed the full impact of his words to embed themselves into her mind. Then, continuing rather bluntly, he added, "And I'd imagine you still do."

Quistis opened her mouth, as if to say something…to disagree with him..ridicule him..tell him he was wrong..Anything. Anything at all. But she found the words would not come so easily, and instead nothing but a pathetic cry escaped her throat, a sound so quiet and raspy that it was inaudible even to Seifer. 

"Thought so," he replied, dryly.

As much as Seifer was enjoying himself, 'chatting' with Quistis Trepe in the center of town all night was not at the top of his list of things to do. He had had the last word, anyway. Stepping away from Quistis, he began to walk away, not before, however, turning around to regard the woman with a swift grin. Raising his arms out to his side, he shrugged. "Guess I'll see you around…_partner_."

Quistis' fierce gaze followed his retreating form until it disappeared in to the darkness of night. 

. . . . . . .

Seifer continued to advance down an empty side street; the thin slices of darkness, adjacent to his own, rounded the corners of buildings like shadowy figures. The only sounds he could hear were his boots, old and worn yet decidedly comfortable, resounding off of the cobblestone pathway with each step.

It seemed as if he walked these streets every night. Every curve in the road, every bump; it was a familiar path that never changed, and somehow, Seifer always made it through the darkness. 

A few minutes later, he could faintly hear a rustling noise somewhere near him, a sound that seemingly became more distinct with each passing second. Whatever it was, it was moving at quite a haphazard pace, stopping here and there and then quickly picking up again to a swift run. Seifer narrowed his gaze. Probably just a cat. 

Then again…

The increasing sounds of movement prickled his senses. Excitement. Anger. Provocation. It was getting closer---louder now---closer---more and---NOW!

On instinct, Seifer unsheathed his gunblade, raising it to the appropriate level, the dim light from a nearby street lamp giving the sharp, silver blade a dangerous sort of shine. Without a second's deliberation, he turned, heel pivoting on the ground below; Seifer Almasy was more than ready to destroy whatever creature was following him.

No sooner than he had turned around, however, did his face contort into a proper scowl. It was a fucking _rat. _

Albeit one very _large _rat. Filthy little thing with beady red eyes, scrawny fur, and wire-like whiskers that mechanically twitched up and down. They were the true taint to any city. Horrified, the little beast quickly scurried away, leaving an imaginary trail of fear behind him.

A little more than exasperated, Seifer slowly lowered his weapon.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, the words tumbling off of his lips only to disappear into the cool, quiet ambiance that night had to offer.

. . . . . . 

_This was a mistake_, Quistis silently groaned, pulling the door behind her until it closed shut. She rested her head against the hard panel of wood, gently tapping it a few times.

With a sigh, she made her way towards the night table, gingerly releasing the honey-coloured cords of hair from the tight hold of the clip. Quistis idly set the clasp next to the lamp, before flopping onto the bed, not even bothering to remove her boots.

She positioned herself so that her head rested comfortably on the soft pillow. 

Hyne, that felt good. 

Partly out of contentedness and just as equally out of agitation, her fingers tightly fisted themselves around the folds of the blue and grey-checkered comforter. 

Damn him.

In many ways, Quistis _was _still holding onto the life she had had at Garden, a life that would never be again. And though her grip was steadily dwindling, she still felt as if something was conceivably missing. The feeling was unrelenting, it seemed, and Quistis was unsure of how to make it go away…or rather, fill the apparent void.

_Ridiculous._ If Quistis wanted to move on, then she would have to really _move on_. Establishing better living arrangements would be a suitable beginning, as she couldn't very well live in a _hotel _room for the rest of her life. She almost smiled at the thought. The woman supposed that tomorrow she would be able to find information regarding apartment rental in a local Dolletian shop.

It was a comforting thought, she decided, if not a pleasant one. 

. . . . . .

"Roy!" a voice bellowed from the cargo deck below. "Get your ass down 'ere!" 

"Sure thing, Gustavus!" Roy replied, balling up his sandwich wrapper and throwing it to the side. Pushing off his knees, he trotted over to the steps and greeted his companion with a fairly vacant expression.

The bigger man below fumed, deep, frustrating breaths coming from his throat, causing a scratchy sort of noise to rasp throughout his nostrils. "I told you," he warned, pointing a thick index finger at the considerably thinner man standing above him. "Don't call me that, you fucking moron."

"Oh--" Roy paused, seemingly in thought. Frowning, he scratched the back of his neck before proceeding to rub at his windswept, greasy hair. Either he was slow or…no, he was just slow. At length, he corrected himself. "Sure thing, _Gus_."

Gus rolled his eyes, mouthing the words 'stupid git'. "Just help me with this shit, would you?" he surrendered, gesturing towards the crates that lay around him. His companion nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to expose the well-toned muscles received from years of work at sea. 

Making his way down the steps, he bent down, grabbing the sides of the crate with his hands and then heaving the thing up to his chest. With a masculine shout, the man reeled back, almost running into the stack of other shipping parcels. The load was far heavier than he had thought.

Gus followed, although with a little less difficulty.

"Damn…" Roy exhaled, the weight of the wooden box digging into his upper body and abdomen. Jerking his head at the thing in his arms, he asked, "What the hell is in these things?"

"Dunno."

"Ain't ever had stuff _this _damn heavy," Roy continued, righting himself and moving towards the steps that led to the upper level of the boat. Trudging up the stairs, he all but dumped the box near the corner of the deck where most cargo was loaded for easier removal. Obviously relieved to (literally) get that load off of his chest, he rolled his shoulders, relaxing some of the previously earned strain. 

Setting down the crate next to the other, Gus shrugged. "All I know is they're goin' to Dollet."


End file.
